


Lesson Plans

by jeeno2



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, Kissing Lessons, Matchmaker TARDIS, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/pseuds/jeeno2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor finally tells Rose what's been making him so skittish about starting up an intimate relationship.  Rose proposes an unusual solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> I'm... not totally certain what inspired this story -- but when inspiration hit it kept me from being able to focus on anything else. This will eventually become quite smutty (hence the M rating -- which may eventually go up to E...) but this chapter is quite solidly T.

Rose startles awake when the door to their prison cell is thrown open with so much force it bangs loudly against the opposite wall.

“Wha –?” the Doctor mumbles from someplace off to her left.  Rose glances in his direction.  He’s lying down on the rickety cot next to hers, still wearing his tuxedo from last night.  His eyes are closed and hands rest lightly on his stomach.

Looks like he fell asleep at some point in the night, then, too. 

“Your sentence is up,” the jailor says, his tone suggesting he wishes that were not the case.  The cramped cell is dimly lit, but enough light is coming in from the hallway outside that Rose can just make out the jailor’s complexion.  He has the same pallid green skin tone that most of the guests at the Queen’s ball last night had.  And that Queen Reginald has herself.

Their jailor must be from the Queen’s clan, Rose deduces, her stomach sinking.  That would explain his surliness and his reluctance to let them go.

The Doctor must arrive at the same conclusion because a moment later he’s on his feet, apparently wide awake now.  His hands tug anxiously on his ear, his hair, the ends of his undone black bow tie.  “Well then,” he says, nodding to her.  He clears his throat meaningfully.  “I suppose we’ll be off.  Rose, shall we?”   He extends his hand – to help her up, probably – and wiggles his fingers at her in a wordless invitation to take it.

Rose has half a mind to swat his hand away and stick out her tongue.  She’s still furious about last night.  But she also has to use the loo desperately and she’s bloody freezing in her fancy dress.  She really doesn’t want to spend any more time in this dirty alien prison than she has to. 

With some difficulty, Rose bites back her irritation long enough to take the Doctor’s hand and let him pull her up to a standing position.

“There!” he says brightly.  Obliviously.   Like always.  “That’s better.”

Rose rolls her eyes and withdraws her hand, folding her arms tightly across her chest.  She decides to ignore the way his eyebrows pull together in confusion. 

“Much better,” she mutters.  “Now let’s get out of here.”

The jailor escorts them down the dank corridor to the room where they were processed last night.  They hadn’t brought much with them to the Queen’s ball, and so their jailors didn’t need to divest them of much before showing them to their cell.  After rummaging around a bit in the back for the right box, the jailor eventually hands them her handbag, his psychic paper and sonic, and an odd jumble of keys the Doctor carries around with him for good luck.

“Is that everything?” the jailor asks gruffly.

“Yep,” the Doctor says.  “That’s all we came with.”

The jailor grunts at him and jerks his head towards the front door.  Taking that as their cue to leave, the Doctor grabs Rose’s hand and hurries them toward the exit.  In her eagerness to put the past fifteen hours behind her Rose doesn’t drop his hand until the TARDIS is finally within sight.

When they’re inside the Doctor starts to laugh. 

“Well,” he says, shaking his head a little.  He sighs and runs his hands through his wrecked hair.  “That was something, wasn’t it?”

He opens his mouth to say more.  But Rose is exhausted.  She knows he’s probably about to say something dismissive about what happened in an attempt to sweep it all under the rug.  Just like he always does after every _almost kissed_ moment they’ve ever had.

She doesn’t have the energy right now to pretend nothing’s wrong. 

Before the Doctor has a chance to say anything else she turns and stalks off to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

 

It was supposed to be a vacation, this trip to Gavaria.

That’s the most galling part, really.  The excursion that ended with them getting tossed in jail was supposed to be a short holiday. 

It was only two nights ago that the Doctor proposed the trip, though now it feels like it happened ages ago. 

They’d been lounging together on the library sofa in their pyjamas.  The Doctor reclined against the back of the couch and Rose rested her head against his chest with her eyes closed.  Some old movie neither of them were paying attention to droned on in the background.   His arms were wrapped around her in that way he has that almost makes her forget he’s a nine-hundred-year-old alien and she’s just a former shopgirl from the Estates, having impossible adventures together through time and space. 

When they snuggle like this she almost feels like any other normal girl, cuddling up with her boyfriend in front of the telly.

 “What’s Gavaria?” she’d mumbled, eyes still closed. 

“A pleasure planet.  On the other side of the Medusa Cascade.  Loads of waterfalls and beaches and amusement parks.  Stuff like that.”  The smile was evident in his voice, and it pulled a matching one from her.  She was warm and sleepy -- getting sleepier by the second, in fact, focused more on the low, soothing rumbling of his voice beneath her ear than his explanation.

“We should go.  We deserve a rest, don’t you think?”  He pressed two gentle kisses to the top of her head.  And then a third, his lips lingering a long moment against her temple.  (These are the sorts of kisses the Doctor gives her at seemingly every opportunity lately.  They always send shivers down her spine – despite the fact that he obviously means nothing by them.)  “There’s a ball tomorrow night for the Queen of Gavaria’s birthday.  Always good for a party, the Gavarians.  Whole planet’s invited, so you and I can get all prettied up go without even having to sneak in.  There’ll be music, and nibbles, and… well.  Dancing.”  He cleared his throat.  “We can dance together, Rose.  If… if you want.”    

His arms tightened around her a little as he spoke but Rose hardly noticed.  Her heart was suddenly beating a mile a minute, thudding loudly in her ears.

The Doctor hadn’t danced with her since that one night ages ago, back when he had big ears and that leather jacket.  It was so long ago, the dancing, and the Doctor hasn’t brought it up since.  Even though it’s one of her favorite memories sometimes Rose wonders if she dreamed up the whole thing.

“Okay,” she said.  She hoped she wasn’t shaking too badly in his arms.  “Let’s go to Gavaria.  Sounds good to me.” 

And it did sound good to her.  Even apart from the prospect of spending the night dancing in the Doctor’s arms, Rose did need a break.  Badly.  They’d just spent the better part of two weeks on the run from a band of Judoon looking for spies that had double-crossed the Shadow Proclamation.  The Doctor eventually convinced them they were innocent, but the whole experience took a lot out of them both. 

In fact, Rose couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do than attend a fancy-dress party with the Doctor.

She’d spent most of the next morning in the TARDIS wardrobe room, her heart still racing, trying to decide which of the three gorgeous dresses the ship nudged her way the Doctor would like her in best.

* * *

 

But of course, nothing on their trip to Gavaria went according to plan.  As the horrible crick in her neck from sleeping on that nasty prison mattress attests.

Still irritated, Rose takes off one of her high-heeled shoes.  She hadn’t brought along a pair of trainers or a change of clothes to Gavaria, and so she’s still in the black, sequined gown and stupid heels she’d worn to the party.  She takes aim and throws the shoe, hard, against her bedroom wall.

It makes a satisfying _thunk_ on contact.  But it doesn’t do much to improve her mood.

* * *

 

At length the Doctor comes to find her.

Three tentative knocks on her bedroom door.  “Rose?”

She rolls her eyes at the ceiling and lets out a huff of irritation.  She should have known he’d follow her after she stormed off.  As brilliant as the Doctor is he sure doesn’t know how to take a hint.

That’s the crux of the whole problem, really.

He knocks again.  A little more assertively this time.  “Can I come in, please?”   He sounds sad, his voice full of apology. 

Rose shakes her head and closes her eyes.  If she refuses to let him in she’ll only be putting off the inevitable.  There’s no way out of this bedroom except through the door he’s knocking on, and the TARDIS won’t let her hide from him forever.

She eases herself reluctantly off the bed and walks to her bedroom door.  The Doctor stands on the other side of it, looking more forlorn and desperate than she’s ever seen him.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  Right to the point.  “Rose, I really am.”

She moves away from the door and gestures for him to come inside.  Might as well get this over with.  He follows her into the room and perches on the edge of her plush pink chair.

“You should be sorry.” 

“I know,” he says.  “But you have to believe me – when I suggested we go to the ball I had no idea the Queen’s sister would be there.” He can’t look her in the eye.  He fidgets in the chair and stares at an invisible spot of nothing on the floor.  “And I had no idea she was going to fancy me, Rose.  I swear I didn’t.”

Rose scoffs.

“Doctor, people fancy you wherever we go,” she says bluntly.  She shakes her head and gives a sharp, humorless bark of laughter.  “Reckon I’m used to it by now.  And I’m not upset about her throwing herself at you.  Well,” she says, thinking better of what she was about to say.  “That’s not what I’m most upset about, anyway.”

The Doctor looks up at her.  His soulful brown eyes are wounded, hurt, and damn it if the hangdog look he’s giving her isn’t nearly enough all by itself to make her want to forgive him.

“It’s not?”

She shakes her head.

“No,” she says.  “What I’m upset about is...”

She trails off, biting her lip. 

How can she put her hurt and frustration into words? 

It had felt – _been_ – incredible, last night, dancing in the Doctor’s arms under those twinkling lights.  She’d looked right into his eyes for what felt like hours as the soft music swirled around them.  As he’d held her close.   

It wasn’t long before the Doctor’s eyes grew dark, ravenous.  Soon, they began roving unabashedly over her body, and over the way her snug black dress hugged her curves.  She could feel the look in his eyes when he met her gaze once more all the way down to her toes.   

He’d tilted his head a little – just a little; just enough so that if she pushed forward an inch he’d be able to capture her mouth in a searing kiss.  She closed her eyes, leaned forward…

But then, without warning, the air shifted and whatever had been about to happen was over.   Before she could ask him what was wrong he’d dropped his arms from around her waist and sprang away like he’d been electrocuted. 

“Doctor?” she’d asked, confused, heart hammering in her chest.  But he was already across the room by then, and chatting animatedly with the Queen’s sister, Maravia.   That little tart had flirted with him shamelessly all throughout dinner – and while he’d mostly ignored her then, now the Doctor was all ears.  Maravia looked up at him in delighted surprise when he joined her at the punch bowl and he began flirting with her just as shamelessly as she’d done with him earlier, tugging on one of her ponytails, laughing at her jokes.  Touching her arm. 

The flirting went on for hours.  Or so it seemed to Rose.  The Doctor, however, ignored the daggers she shot at him with her eyes.  Unfortunately, he also ignored the Queen’s many pointed stares, the Prince’s loud, outraged protests, and all of the signs posted around the room warning guests that fraternizing with members of the royal family would be punishable by a night in jail. 

Even as the Queen’s guards were tossing him into that horrible prison cell (and Rose right along with him, given that she was his companion), the Doctor pretended he didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. 

Rose shakes her head in an attempt to clear away the awful memories.

“We’d been dancing, Doctor.  Really _dancing_.”  She moves her hands meaningfully, though the Doctor isn’t looking at her.  He’s still staring at the floor.  “And then right when I thought you were about to – about to –“ 

Her eyes are stinging now, and she bites her lip again in frustration.  She will _not_ cry over this.  She refuses to sink that low.

“Go on,” the Doctor prompts.

She walks over to him and puts her hand on his shoulder.  She shakes him, gently, until he’s looking up at her.

“I thought you were going to kiss me, you idiot,” she says.  His face falls.  “But you _didn’t_ , because you _never_ do.  And then you threw yourself at that other girl, and then we ended up in jail!”

Unbidden, the tears start to roll down her cheeks.  Rose has never felt so stupid in all her life.

“Rose,” the Doctor says. His voice is quiet, pained.  Like he’s dreading what he’s about to say.  “I… wanted to kiss you.”  

She scoffs.  “Liar.”

The Doctor stands up, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.  “I’m not lying, Rose.  I swear I’m not.  The way you looked last night… with your hair, in that dress… blimey.  I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”  He swallows thickly and his Adam’s apple bobs.  He laughs a little, but there’s no humor in it.  It’s a nervous sound.  “But then again, I can never seem to take my eyes off you.  No matter what you’re wearing.”

After all the mixed signals he’s given her in the nearly two years they’ve been traveling together Rose doesn’t want to believe him.  It makes no sense, what he’s telling her, given the way he bolts for the door any time there’s a charged, more-than-friendly moment between them. 

But he’s blushing, and he’s tugging on his ear, and he just looks so earnest and so sad that Rose can feel all her anger and frustration with him melting away in spite of herself.

“Why don’t you… just, you know.  Kiss me, then.  Why don’t you _ever_ kiss me?”  The question she’s been wanting to ask him ever since Cardiff.  She fidgets with her earring, suddenly nervous.  Hearing him confirm what she’s always suspected held him back– that she’s just a human; that she’s nothing special – will hurt.  But she has to know.  This little dance they’ve been doing around each other has gone on far too long.

But he says nothing. 

Rose continues.  “Do you just not… I dunno.  Do you just not fancy me in… in that way?”  She swallows.  “If that’s what it is, Doctor, just tell me.”

The Doctor looks stricken.

“Oh gods no.  No, no.  It’s not that I don’t fancy you.  I assure you.”  He turns on his heel, then, and begins pacing the room in agitation.  “I promise you it’s not that.  I’ve – gods, Rose, I’ve fancied you for what feels like forever.”   He still isn’t looking her in the eye but his words make her feel lighter than she has in years. 

Quietly, tentatively, she crosses the room until she’s standing right next to him.  She touches his arm.  He flinches a little at the contact but doesn’t shrug her off.  “What is it, then?”

He sighs.  “Rose, it’s been… well.  It’s been a very long time since I… since I was…. Uhm.  Intimate.  With… with anyone.”  He coughs awkwardly into his hand.  “Or even since I properly snogged anyone.  It’s been decades.  Actually, erm.  It’s been… well.  Centuries.”

Rose’s eyes go wide with surprise.  She had not expected this.  She knows he hasn’t always had a body as fit as this one.  But from the very beginning of her time with him it was his personality more than anything else that drew her to him like a moth to a flame.  It’s what draws everyone to him.

The thought that there’s been no one – not one single person – with whom he’s shared any sort of physical intimacy in _centuries…_

“Well… all right, Doctor.  I suppose I understand that.  But I still don’t understand what any of that has to do with –“

“Rose, I just don’t… oh, bloody hell.”

He moves over to the chair again and sits down heavily, burying his face in his hands.

“Doctor, what is it?”

He slides his hands down his face so he can look at her.  His eyes are anguished.  “It’s been so long for me and… and I’m just terrified that if… if I… kiss you, or, or do more with you than just hold hands or snuggle with you on the couch, that I’ll...”  He trails off, struggling with what to say next for the first time since she’s known him.  “Rose, if we do… _that_ , I just don’t want it to be… I don’t know.  Terrible?”  He shakes his head.  “Rose, I barely even remember how.”

Oh. 

He shakes his head again and quickly runs his hands through his hair in agitation.  “Well, that’s not exactly right.  I remember the principal of the… you know.  Of the thing.”  He swallows thickly.  “But I don’t quite remember how to do the… how to make the…”  He lets out a loud huff of frustration.  “Rose, I’m rubbish at this.  At… at relationships, at kissing, at all the rest of it.  The last thing I want is to try it and have it go badly.  And for you to finally get fed up with me and… and leave.”

She has a sudden, dawning realization.  “So that’s why you bolted when we almost kissed last night.”

He nods.

“And that’s why you keep wanting to snuggle… but every time I think we’re about to do anything more…”  She trails off, suddenly realizing something very important.  “Doctor, this is why you behaved like such a complete prat in France, too.  Isn’t it.” 

France.  The way he hadn’t fought it at all when Reinette kissed him.  The horrible way he’d acted towards her, after.  They haven’t spoken of it once since it happened -- Rose has simply tamped down the stinging pain of rejection and carried on – but just thinking about it now makes her stomach lurch.

“Yes, Rose,” he says miserably.  “Yes to all of it.”  His shoulders slump in defeat.  “I’m an idiot, and a bloody coward.”  He gives another short, humorless laugh.  “You deserve better.”

Rose kneels down before the Doctor and takes his hand in hers.  Twines their fingers together.  He still won’t look at her, but to her great relief he doesn’t pull his hand away.

Suddenly, she has an idea.

“Doctor?”

“Hmm?”

She licks her lips and steels her nerves.  “I’m still cross with you for how you’ve behaved.  ‘s gonna take a while for that to go away.  But the reason why you behaved this way?  Your, um…”  She trails off, feeling a blush rising on her cheeks.  “Your, um, inexperience?  Or whatever you want to call it.  None of that sounds like that big of a problem, to me.  Really it doesn’t.”

He glances up at her.  “No?”

“Definitely not.” 

He looks skeptical.  “You don’t know that.  You don’t know how rubbish I’ll be.”

But she won’t be deterred.  “If it would make you feel better, perhaps we could have a few… I dunno.  Lessons?  About what to do, and how it works and… and all that?” Her blush deepens.  “I don’t think any of it’s necessary because I’m sure that just… um… being with you would be wonderful and lovely.  But… well, if it would make you feel better….”

The Doctor looks confused.  “Lessons?”  He says the word like it’s one he’s never heard before.

She smiles at him.  “Lessons,” she confirms.  She giggles a little.  She can’t help herself.  She feels lighter than air.  Like she’s floating ten feet above the clouds.  “I really want to try being more than best mates, Doctor.  Maybe you just need some advice as we go.  We can take things as slow as you, um… need to.  And I’ll show you what to do every step of the way.”

“Lessons,” he says again.  A look of realization dawns on his face.  “You mean, you’ll…”

He trails off, his eyes wide as saucers, apparently at a loss for words.

On impulse, Rose moves closer to the Doctor, positioning herself between his knees.  She raises their clasped hands to her lips and begins pressing gentle kisses to the back of his hand.  One, two, three, leaving her lips against his skin a little longer each time.

She presses a fourth kiss to the pulse point on his wrist, this time parting her lips a little.  Feeling bold, she swirls her tongue against him, gently running its soft wet tip in small circles along his cool skin.  She can hear his sharp intake of breath, and is filled with a heady sort of thrill at the confirmation that this is something they can possibly work through together.

“Lessons,” she says again when she pulls away.  His eyes are half-lidded and dark, now, and he’s giving her a look he’s never seen from him before.  “We can start the first one whenever you’re ready.”

She bites her lip, waiting for his answer.  Before the first lesson can happen he’ll need to convince her that his days of pulling a runner every time they get too close are well and truly over. But the rare, raw honesty he’s sharing with her now has already gone a long way towards accomplishing that all on its own, and right now he’s looking at her like she hung the stars.

“Okay,” he says.  His voice is husky.  He nods slowly before giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I think… I think that I would like that very much.”

She smiles at him, relieved and exhilarated all at once, and gives his hand another kiss.


	2. Kissing for Dummies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're still solidly at a T rating -- but the story will earn its M in the next chapter. Thank you dirty_brian for prereading and moutaingirlheidi for moral support! :)

Much to the Doctor’s disappointment, Rose shoos him out of her bedroom shortly after she shares her brilliant idea. 

“I’m knackered, Doctor.”  She sounds tired, and more apologetic than she should be.  “It was a long night last night, yeah?  I need to take a nap.” 

The Doctor nods vigorously.  “Of course!”  

He doesn’t really want to leave Rose again so soon after their reconciliation.  But he goes anyway, because right now he’d agree to just about anything she wanted.  It’s been more than ten minutes, but even now, he can still feel her beautiful, plump lips pressed up against the back of his hand where she’d kissed it, her tongue tracing sweet torturous circles onto his skin. 

The TARDIS isn’t in any particular need of tinkering at the moment, so after closing Rose’s door behind him the Doctor decides to visit the library instead.  Rose may want to give him _lessons,_ as she put it.  But there’s no way he’s showing up to the first class unprepared.

Oh no.  If she’s giving him lessons, he supposes he needs to… well.  Study. 

He refuses to come off like some inexperienced teenaged idiot when Rose is ready to begin whatever it is she plans to do with him.

* * *

 

The Doctor can’t quite believe how quickly Rose forgave him for his appalling behavior at the Queen’s ball. 

He’d known, even as he allowed Princess Maravia to throw herself at him, that what he was doing was reprehensible.  He and Rose have been skating dangerously close to the edge of something both terrifying and wonderful for months now, and his behavior last night was borne out of nothing but a cowardly, misplaced self-preservation instinct he’s been clinging to ever since Rose came aboard the TARDIS.  

The closer he and Rose have grown, the more desperately he’s clung to his need to keep some distance between them at all times.  But that’s over now.  Rose is clearly determined to tear the away the last remaining shreds of his self-restraint .  After nearly two years of fighting what he now knows is a hopeless, losing battle, he thinks he’s going to let her do it.

No.  That’s not right.  He’s _certain_ he’s going to let her do it.  If there’s one thing the Doctor knows with certainty it’s that he will never again be able to deny Rose Tyler anything she wants.  He no longer even has the strength to try.

Especially because, as he now realizes, they’ve both wanted the same thing all along.

* * *

 

Unfortunately – and to the Doctor’s great frustration – the TARDIS library is not as helpful as he’d hoped it might be.  It’s true that there are more books on kissing and intimacy on the shelves right now than usual.  The TARDIS is clearly doing her best.  But while the tenth edition of _Kissing for Dummies_ is certainly diverting enough (to say nothing of the _Kama Sutra_ _–_ a book the Doctor can’t even leaf through without turning a damning shade of crimson), the Doctor remembers enough about what physical intimacy is like to know that understanding the mechanics of the act is, at best, half the battle.

He already knows the names of Rose’s most intimate places in fifteen hundred different languages.  He knows – generally speaking, at least – where on her body he’ll find them.  What he still needs to learn, though, and what none of these books are telling him, is how to kiss Rose Tyler so thoroughly and so well she forgets her own name.  He wants to worship her body with the care and attention she deserves, with his hands, his mouth.  His tongue. 

He wants to make her fall apart in his arms as she screams his name.

He _also_ wants to be able to last longer than thirty seconds once they’re finally together.  The Doctor suspects that one’s a lost cause, though, given that he can’t even think about all the things he wants to do with Rose Tyler without becoming almost painfully hard inside his trousers.

It’s just been such a long time.  The thought of coming to her as he is now – a manic hodgepodge of eagerness, stupidity, incompetence, and lust— strikes fear in his hearts unlike anything he’s ever known.

It was no lie when he told her he’s terrified his ineptitude might drive her away.  Nor was it untrue when he said this fear is a big part of what’s made him so skittish.  The Doctor could bear an eternity of celibacy, a lifetime of loving Rose Tyler only at arm’s length, so long as she never leaves him.

The Doctor glances down at his wristwatch.  He’s been at this for nearly an hour now, and he’s no closer to having answers than he was when he started. 

He sighs forlornly and shakes his head. 

These books might not hold all the answers but he supposes they’re better than nothing.  Realizing there’s no help for it, the Doctor flips ahead in _Kissing for Dummies_ until he gets to a chapter that gives him pause:

_Chapter 10:  The Tongue_

“Bloody hell,” he mutters under his breath as he begins to read.

* * *

 

The Doctor is so engrossed in his research that he doesn’t realize Rose is no longer napping in her bedroom until she’s suddenly standing right behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“What’ve you got there?” she asks, trying to get a look at his book.

The Doctor lets out a panicked yelp.  He slams shut _Kissing for Dummies_ – which has, to his mild surprise, turned out to be rather chock full of interesting information – and tries to hide it beneath his forearm. 

“Hmm?  Oh, err – this?” He quirks his head towards the half-hidden book.  “It’s, uhm.  It’s nothing.  Err, it’s nothing interesting, rather.”  He can feel his face turning red, and his voice cracks on every other word.  Both of these things would ordinarily embarrass him beyond measure.  But Rose has changed into those tiny pyjama shorts of hers that drive him absolutely barmy – the ones with the cartoon sheep on them; the ones that only just barely cover her gorgeous, shapely arse – and he’s so flustered by the fact that she’s standing right in front of him, her bare legs less than six inches away from his body as he tries, in vain, to hide a kissing textbook from her, that there’s no room left for embarrassment at all. 

“Nothing interesting, huh?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.  He knows that look.  She knows he’s hiding something.  His stomach sinks.

The Doctor sniffs in a way he hopes looks dispassionate.  “It’s a book on… err, particle physics.  And… stuff.”

Rose bites her lip.  She’s clearly fighting a smile, and the Doctor knows she isn’t buying any of this.  “Particle physics? And stuff?”

He nods vigorously.  “Yes.  Stuff.” 

She gives the Doctor a knowing smile.  But to his great relief she drops the subject.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt you, Doctor.  I just came round to see if you might want to read with me for a bit.”  She’s still smiling at him.  And he smiles back, because he just can’t help it.  Rose apparently wants to be with him the same way he wants to be with her.  And she’s smiling.

“I’d love to read with you,” he says honestly.

Rose runs the tip of her finger slowly down the fabric of his tie.  With a wink, she walks past him to the large bookcases lining the far wall of the library.  She glances at the different titles on one of the upper shelves before bending at the waist to look at a row of books a little lower down.  Her pyjama shorts, which barely cover her arse when she’s standing upright, rise even higher up the backs of her thighs as she considers her options.  The Doctor, and not for the first time, feels every bit the lecherous old fool he is as he watches her peruse the titles on the shelf.  He’s completely unable to keep himself from staring at the way the muscles in her upper thighs flex and tense as she shifts her weight from foot to foot, and he’s very glad she’s facing away from him as he surreptitiously adjusts the front of his trousers.

At length, Rose finds a book she’s happy with – _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone;_ an old favorite of theirs _\--_ and stands up.  The bottom hem of her pyjama shorts lowers an infinitesimal amount as she stands.  The Doctor isn’t sure whether he’s disappointed or relieved.

As she walks silently to the sofa, book in hand, the Doctor wonders if now might be a good time to ask for clarification on her earlier proposal.  When will his lessons begin?  And what will they entail?  She’d said he’d be the one to decide how these things went.  That he’d dictate their timing, their pace, their content.  But he isn’t fooled.  He knows himself well enough to know that the second Rose Tyler’s lips are on his, he’ll be at her mercy, and will lose just about every coherent thought he’s ever had. 

She’ll be in control of all of it – and of him as well – right from the start.

The Doctor licks his lips and steels his nerves, and is just about to ask when they might get started when Rose stifles a yawn with the back of her hand.  She plops unceremoniously down on the library sofa before opening the book on another yawn.

“Here we are, then,” she says happily to her book.  She flips forward a few pages and begins to read.

He nods to himself.  Later, then.  He’s fine with later.  After all, he still has no sodding idea what he’s going to do once later becomes _now_.

The Doctor quietly chucks _Kissing for Dummies_ into a drawer hidden in the bottom of the library desk.  That embarrassing bit of business taken care of he stands up and walks over to the bookshelves.  He selects a title at random, knowing full well he won’t be able to focus on a single word with Rose Tyler sitting next to him on the couch, dressed as she is, after the conversation they had in her bedroom earlier today.

Not that he’s complaining.

* * *

 

Out of respect for the fact that she’s clearly still quite tired from last night, when the Doctor joins Rose on the library sofa he sits as far away from her as physically possible. 

Or he tries to.

It really doesn’t matter, though, because it’s not long before they’re right next to each other anyway.  It’s like Rose Tyler has some sort of gravitational pull over him that he’s powerless to resist.  He supposes that’s a distinct possibility. 

Before the Doctor knows what’s happening Rose’s head rests on his chest, the light flowery scent of her shampoo all around him.  His book lies abandoned, forgotten, on the floor by his feet.

Eventually, Rose dog-ears the top corner of her page and shuts the book.  She reaches across his body and slides it onto the coffee table next to the couch.  She stretches her arms overhead on a loud sigh, causing her vest top to ride up a bit and exposing a small expanse of bare stomach in the process.  The Doctor is mesmerized at the sight of her, so beautiful and fragrant and _Rose,_ and he has to shake his head a little to bring himself back to his senses.

She’s looking right at him.  Her expression is unreadable, but there’s an undeniable heat in her gaze.  The Doctor clears his throat and gives her a nervous smile. 

He can’t help but wonder what happens next.

“Hey,” she says.  Her voice is husky, and the sound of it is enough to turn his blood to fire in his veins.

Slowly, slowly, she reaches up and cups the side of his face.  She gently strokes his cheek with her thumb, making him shiver. 

Rose Tyler has touched his face before.  Many times, in fact.  But never like this. 

“Is this… is this okay?” she asks, tentatively, sounding at least as shy as he feels.  His hearts clench painfully in his chest at the indecision and worry he sees in her expression, knowing it’s his confusing behavior these past two years that put them there.

He nods wordlessly.  He doesn’t trust his voice not to give away how unbearably nervous he is.

“No more princesses, Doctor,” she says sternly.  “And no more running away.”

He nods again, more fervently this time.  He desperately hopes she believes him.  That she can see the ardor he feels for her in his eyes.

Rose bites her lip, and his eyes are drawn irresistibly to the plump, pink bit of flesh caught between her teeth.  Apparently taking that as encouragement Rose slowly closes the distance between them and presses her lips to his.

Several conflicting thoughts run through his head all at once.  The old, familiar urge to bolt from the room before Rose realizes what a horrible coward he is briefly surges through him. But a moment later Rose wraps her arms around his neck and angles her head to deepen the kiss and that thought – plus all the myriad others swirling through his brain – scatters like so much dust on the wind.

“I… don’t know how to do this,” the Doctor pants feebly, resting his forehead against hers, when she pulls back.  He knows he sounds pathetic.  But it’s the truth.  Those books didn’t really help him at all in the end.  He sees that now.  They didn’t tell him how to _please_ her, and pleasing Rose Tyler is all he wants in the universe.

But Rose only smiles at him.  Kisses his forehead tenderly.  And then presses two more soft pecks to his lips that he can feel all the way down to his toes.

“Relax, Doctor,” she whispers.  “Just do what feels good, yeah?”

She doesn’t understand.  “But Rose, I –“

She cuts off the rest of his words, sealing her mouth over his and tracing the seam of his lips with the tip of her tongue.  Instinctively, without even having to think about it, he opens up for her, winding his arms around her body as she tastes him, kisses him like he’s a drink of water on a  hot summer day.  He moans indelicately – he can’t help himself – as her tongue strokes gently along his, and then he moans again, even louder, when in one quick movement she’s suddenly astride him, straddling him.  His head is still tilted back against the sofa cushions, and her lips are still pressed deliciously against his – but now his face is at a level with her glorious breasts and he is powerless to stop the physical response this change in positions brings about in him.

Rose begins running her fingers through his hair, her short fingernails scratching gently along his scalp.  He had no idea the universe contained such pleasures.  When she does it again, and then again, the last wobbly remnant of his self-restraint finally buckles and snaps.   He grips her thighs, hard, and thrusts his tongue into her mouth forcefully and inartfully.  She gives a yelp of surprise, and the sound of it inflames him further.  The taste and feel of Rose Tyler all around him sends a white hot bolt of pleasure straight through him, and it’s suddenly all he can do to refrain from throwing her down on the sofa and tearing off every last stitch of her clothes. 

Rose breaks away a moment later, putting both hands on her chest to stop him.  “Hold on, Doctor,” she says.  Her breathing is ragged.  She bites her bottom lip again, and the sight of it is so enticing he has to clench his hands into fists at his sides to keep from pulling her into him so he can kiss her again.

“What is it?” he asks.  He tenses, terrified he’s gotten it all wrong.  That she’s about to throw him out.  He doesn’t know how he’ll bear it if she throws him out.  He’d thinks he’d rather die.

She takes a deep breath before answering him.  “That was… um.  That was lovely, Doctor.”  She chews on her fingernails.  “But, err… I guess the first, most important thing to remember about kissing is… um.  Don’t rush it?” 

She runs her fingers up and down the silk fabric of his tie as she talks.  And she’s smiling at him.  If she were going to throw him out he suspects she would not be doing either of these things.  He allows himself to relax a little. 

“No rushing?” he asks. 

“No rushing,” she confirms.  “At least… well, at least not at first.  You don’t want to, um… you don’t want to cram your tongue into the other person’s mouth right at the beginning.”  She says all of this very fast.  Her face is so flushed as she speaks, so incredibly beautiful, a helpless whimper escapes him.  She mistakes his whimper for something other than what it is and quickly presses a delicate kiss to each corner of his mouth. 

“No rushing,” he repeats.  “No… no tongues?”  She’s pressing kisses along his jawline, now, down the column of his throat (which _definitely_ means she’s not about to throw him out, he figures) and his eyes flutter closed of their own accord. 

“Wellll….” She sounds so much like him when he’s trying to work out the answer to a difficult problem he breaks into a broad grin.  His Rose.  _Gods_ how he loves this woman.  “That’s… that’s not really what I mean.  Tongues are fine.  They’re great, even.”  She pulls back a little and giggles.  It’s a nervous sound, but it’s reassuring to know she’s nervous, too.

“I… think I understand.”  But he doesn’t.

His confusion must be written all over his face because she looks at him with sympathy.  “It’s all kinda hard to explain with words, I guess.  Just… just go a bit slower, yeah?” She pulls back and looks into his eyes.  “At least at first.  Once we’ve been going for a bit, then you can – you know.”  She trails off and blushes again.

He _doesn’t_ know.  He really doesn’t.

“Rose –“

She cuts off his next words with another gentle kiss.  “Shall we try again, Doctor?”  Her smile grows, and the tip of her tongue touches the corner of her mouth.  Before he has a chance to answer her she’s kissing him again, running her fingers gently through his hair once more, and she’s _brilliant_ , the feel of her, the way she tastes, all of it.

As he wraps his arms around her the Doctor decides his questions can wait.  He’s perfectly, deliriously happy to let her take the lead in all of this. 

And as she kisses him – on the mouth; along his jaw; down his neck -- he vows to any deity that might be listening that he will devote himself completely to learning how to do this.  He will practice, and practice, and practice kissing Rose Tyler as much as she’ll allow until he’s gotten it exactly right.


	3. Downpour

After checking the monitor and confirming that the TARDIS has landed safely, the Doctor bounds through the console room like an excited puppy. 

“Aha!  Here we are, Rose. The island of Maui, _circa_ 1979.”   He beams at her, looking both daft and adorable in his ridiculously large aviator sunglasses, white t-shirt, and TARDIS-blue swimming trunks that stop just above the knees. 

Rose has been looking forward to this little beach holiday ever since the Doctor suggested it two nights ago.  He grins at her, and she’s just so happy to be here with him right now she can’t help but smile back.

With a laugh and a cheeky wink, the Doctor drapes a large, striped towel over his right shoulder and an overlarge beach umbrella over his left.  He strides purposefully towards the TARDIS’ front doors and throws them open with a flourish. 

But all his excitement seems to drain from him the moment he looks outside.  His shoulders slump forward and he drops the umbrella, just before he leans dejectedly against a coral strut.  

“Oh, bugger,” he mutters under his breath.

Rose bites her lip, wondering what brought about this sudden change in mood.  After nearly two years of traveling with the Doctor, though, she thinks she might have some idea. 

“Doctor?” she asks.  “Everything all right?”

When he doesn’t respond Rose saunters up to him and wraps her arms around his waist from behind.  She’s wearing a bathing suit and a lacy white cover-up that barely goes down to her mid-thigh.  It’s far more revealing than anything she’s ever worn around him before, and she can’t help but notice the Doctor’s sharp inhalation of breath when she wraps her bare arms around him.

She smiles inwardly, pleased with herself.  With some difficulty, she puts his very gratifying reaction out of mind for the moment, and stands on tiptoe so she can peer outside over his shoulder.

“Oh,” she says mildly, looking around.  “Yeah.  That’s not Hawaii, is it.” 

In truth, Rose isn’t terribly surprised that they’ve landed in the middle of what looks like a dense tropical rainforest rather than on a sunny Hawaiian beach.  This is _them_ they’re talking about, after all.  It’s been weeks since the Doctor’s landed them in the wrong spot.  Honestly, they were probably long overdue for something like this.

But the Doctor is clearly unhappy about it.  He sighs again and shakes his head.  “I promised you sandy beaches and fruity drinks and sunbathing and sunsets.”  He turns in her arms to face her and leans his forehead against hers.  “Sorry.”

His sincere disappointment touches her.  Rose leans forward and kisses him gently on the mouth, trying to reassure him this detour isn’t really that big of a deal.  His pout quickly melts into a dopey grin, and her heart flutters in her chest at just how far they’ve come since that first tentative kiss three days ago.

“Want me to try again?” he asks hopefully.  “See if I can’t stick the landing the second time?”

She shakes her head.

“No, it’s all right, Doctor.” 

It’s more than all right. 

These past few days with him – snuggling together on the library sofa, kissing while movies they weren’t watching played in the background – have been like a happy daydream.  It’s true that she’s been looking forward to Hawaii, but that’s mostly because she thought it’d be a good excuse to wear the revealing bathing suits the TARDIS keeps nudging her way (and an opportunity to see the Doctor’s reactions to them).

But this place, wherever they are, will do fine.  She and the Doctor manage to find their own fun wherever they go.  What’s more, Rose suspects rainforests aren’t usually a major source of intergalactic trouble.  What she needs more than anything right now is a little downtime, just her and the Doctor.  If he tries to take them somewhere else who knows what they might find.

Over time, Rose has learned the TARDIS usually takes them right where they need to be. 

“Let’s stay, Doctor,” Rose says.  She smiles, tongue touching the corner of her mouth.  “I’m sure there’s plenty of fun stuff to do in a rainforest, yeah?”

The Doctor stares at her mouth for a long moment, looking dazed. 

“Well…” he begins, when he comes back to himself.  He rubs at the back of his neck.  “I don’t know that there _is_ actually much fun to be had in a rainforest, to be honest.  Rainforests are usually full of mosquitos.  Or, if you’re on Variaxia Twelve, flying blood-sucking rats.”  He shudders a little.  “To say nothing of all that muggy air, dense vegetation, and buckets of rain.”  He pauses for a moment, and then blinks, like he’s just thought of something.   “Although Pearth’s rainforest is admittedly quite nice.  Amazing, actually.  But I’m almost positive we’re not Pearth.  The sky here’s not nearly pink enough for it to be Pearth, the trees aren’t tall enough, and –“

Rose cuts off his babble with a kiss. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Doctor,” she assures him, smiling.  She kisses him again just because she can.  He eagerly kisses her back, and her heart soars.  Will she ever get used to this, with him?  She can hardly imagine it.  “Let’s stay.” 

He sighs, but she knows he’ll agree to it.  “This isn’t quite my idea of an ideal holiday location, Rose Tyler.  But I suppose if you’re fine with staying here, I’m fine with it too.”  He clears his throat.  “Fancy a hike, then?  Well, I say ‘hike’ – more likely we’ll just be wading about through a lot of muck.”  He grimaces a little, then winks at her.  “Fancy a wade through some muck, Rose?”

She laughs at how hard he’s trying to sound chipper about their changed plans.  “I’d love to, Doctor.  Just let me just get changed?”  She gestures to herself and to the skimpy outfit she’s wearing.  “Probably need to put on a bit more clothing if there’s bugs and things out there.”

As she speaks the Doctor’s eyes move slowly down her body and then back up again. 

“Changing.  Erm, into something more...  yes,” he stammers.  His face is starting to turn red, and Rose has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.  He’s so bloody adorable, and he has no idea.    “You should definitely... well.”  He coughs into his hand and looks away, then down at himself.  “Actually, I should probably change too, come to think of it.  As good as I look in what I’m wearing, this probably isn’t the best ensemble for traipsing through a rainforest.”  He looks up at her with mock seriousness.  “There might be crocodiles out there, Rose.  We better be prepared for anything.”

* * *

 

It takes Rose longer to change into more suitable clothing than she’d expected.  The TARDIS had apparently been as eager for her to have a beach vacation as she was, judging by the ridiculous number of two-piece bathing suits and summery tops in her dresser drawers.

Rose does eventually find a plain white cotton t-shirt, blue jeans, and boots she figures are sturdy enough for whatever this place might have in store for them.  She dresses quickly, and then pulls her hair back into a loose ponytail so it’ll stay out of her face.

The Doctor is waiting for her in the console room when she emerges, wearing his usual brown pinstriped suit and trainers.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll get it all muddy?” she asks, indicating his suit.

“Nah,” he says.  He waves his hand dismissively.  “I’m not bothered.  If I wreck this one I still have nine other suits just like it in my closet.” 

Rose starts to laugh.  Of course he does.  Why hadn’t that occurred to her before?

He laughs along with her.  “Allons-y!” he says, reaching for her hand.  He waggles his eyebrows.  “The muck awaits.”

* * *

 

By the time they’re into their second hour of exploration – or possibly their ninety-fifth; this place is too muggy, buggy, and awful for Rose to pay attention to much besides how deeply she regrets not being on Maui after all – she decides she’d been wrong.

The TARDIS couldn’t possibly have had their best interests at heart when landing here.

The trail they’re on is covered in a greenish sort of mud that’s several inches thick in places. The air is thicker than Rose’s mum’s pea soup.  Worst of all, a different blood-thirsty mosquito decides to make a meal of her every time they round a bend.   

But because it was her idea to stay here, Rose does her best to keep her complaints to herself as they trudge along.

“I think I’ve finally figured out where we are,” the Doctor says happily.  Much to her surprise, the Doctor seems to be enjoying himself here.  He found a walking stick about a mile ago, all gnarled and knobby at the ends.  That discovery went a long way towards improving his mood and helping him warm to the place.  His Time Lord biology also doesn’t seem to appeal much to the local mosquitos, which also helps.

“Where are we, then, Doctor?”  Rose slaps at her arm, groaning when she realizes that the hungry mosquito she’d been after was faster than she was.

“We’re on the forested moon of Fremus,” the Doctor says, drawing out the words for effect.  He looks off into the distance, nodding.  “You can tell we’re on Fremus by the quality of the atmosphere.  It’s moist, of course – any rainforest’s atmosphere is going to be _moist_ – but the air’s not so thick with moisture that a person gets wet just by walking around.”  The Doctor quickly looks Rose up and down, as if seeking visual confirmation of what he’s saying.  “If we were, say, in the Amazon, we’d be drenched to the skin after a thirty minute stroll.  That’s how it is in most rainforests, actually.”

“You don’t say.”  Rose slaps at her other arm, missing her target yet again. 

“Oh yes.  Quite,” he says.  “The Amazon back on Earth, the Qairio Range out on Maxamilius 5, Garavia’s Juariassd Forest…” He ticks off each place on his fingers.  “Those places really put the _rain_ in _rainforest._   Not like here.  No; this place is dry as a fiddle.”  He pauses and scratches his head, frowning.  “Hmm.  That’s not right.  This place is dry as a _bone._   Yes, that’s more like it – _oh_!”

The Doctor’s monologue is interrupted by a sudden and very ironically-timed downpour.  They are both so caught off guard by the sheets of water now drenching them that they stand rooted to the spot for several long moments, blinking and sputtering and coughing with surprise.

Rose – who by this point has bloody well had it with this planet, or moon, or wherever they are – recovers first.

“Doctor!” she shouts.  “We gotta get out of here!”

She grabs his hand and together, the two of them run pell-mell towards a blur in the distance that Rose sure hopes is a cave. 

* * *

 

As luck would have it, it is a cave.  And it’s dry inside.

By the time they reach it, still clinging tightly to each other’s hands, they’re soaked through to the skin and laughing so hard their sides ache.

“We must not be on Fremus after all,” the Doctor says, gasping for air, once his laughter subsides enough for him to talk.  “ _Far_ too much rain.”

“Oh, Doctor,” Rose says, still giggling.  She tears out the elastic holding up her ponytail and wrings out her sodden hair.  A small puddle quickly forms by her feet.  “Can we leave this place and go to Hawaii after all?  You were right.  It’s bloody miserable here.”

When she’s finished with her hair she looks up at the Doctor, who’s standing very still by the cave’s entrance.  His own hair is an absolute wreck from the rain, sticking up in so many different directions he looks like he’s been electrocuted, and water droplets drip down the sides of his face and the back of his neck.

But he doesn’t seem bothered by his hair or with how drenched he is.  All of his attention is focused on her.  Or, more accurately, on a spot over her shoulder, just an inch or two to the right of her.  He’s wearing an intense, queer sort of expression she can’t quite place but that sets her heart to pounding all the same.

He clears his throat loudly before speaking.

“Err... well, yes, of course we can still go to Hawaii,” he says stiffly.  He clenches his jaw, and tears his eyes away from whatever it is he’d been looking at.  He begins pacing the far side of the cave very rapidly, the way he does whenever he’s agitated or trying to work out the solution to a difficult problem. 

Rose frowns at his sudden change in demeanor.

“We’ll need to wait until the rain stops, of course,” he continues.  His words are clipped.  Precise.  “But as soon as it does we can head back to the TARDIS and leave right away.”  He nods distractedly but doesn’t stop pacing.  He shrugs.  “If… well.  If you want.”

“Doctor?”  

She crosses over to him and touches his forearm.  He flinches a little at the contact but doesn’t pull away.  He stops pacing at last, closes his eyes, and sighs very quietly.

“What is it, Doctor?” she asks.  “Tell me.  What’s wrong?” 

“Rose,” he says.  Her name is a hoarse whisper on his lips, barely audible above the sound of the driving rain.

“What is it?” 

But he doesn’t answer.  He swallows thickly, licks his lips, and turns to face her.  His eyes dart back and forth between her face and that same invisible spot of nothing he’d been staring at a few moments ago. 

He closes his eyes again.  “I don’t… it’s just…” 

She steps closer to him.  “What?”

He groans helplessly.  “Your… um.  Your shirt, Rose.” 

“What about my shirt?”

But then it hits her.

 _Her shirt_.  The thin, white, cotton t-shirt she put on just before they left the TARDIS.  It’s been a long time since she’s been caught in the rain wearing a shirt like this one, but it suddenly occurs to her that the last time it happened, Mickey got so flustered he dropped his chips.

Rose glances down at her chest.  Sure enough, her shirt is drenched all the way through, just like the rest of their clothing.  Unlike her jeans, however, the water has made her shirt nearly skin-tight against her body, and is now so see-through she might as well not be wearing a shirt at all.

She looks back up at the Doctor.  She sees, for the first time, that his pupils are blown wide with confusion and desire.  It gives her a powerful sort of thrill to know she’s brought him to this state just by getting wet in the rain – but then she reminds herself that this is all so very new to him, and she must be patient.

She reaches out and cups the Doctor’s face tenderly, understanding.

But he won’t be comforted.  He’s shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot, watching her, trying to gauge her reaction to _his_ reaction.  She can almost hear the internal war he must be waging with his conscience right now, the mental strain he’s under as she stands before him, right in front of him, touching his face, drenched to the skin and almost totally on display from the waist up.

Slowly, the way she might approach a caged animal, Rose moves closer to him and places her hands flat against his chest.  His hearts thrash wildly against his rib cage and against her palms.

“Doctor,” she says.

“Hmm?” 

 “Do you want to look at me?”

He swallows.  “I… I am looking at you.”

She smiles at him.  “Yes, I know.  You’re looking at my face.  But that isn’t what I meant.”

He blinks several times, very slowly.  “Oh.”  And then he closes his eyes.  “What… what _do_ you mean, then?” 

She decides it would be best if she showed him. 

She slides her palms across his chest and down his arms until she reaches his hands, clenched into fists at his sides.  She coaxes them open and twines their fingers together.  She takes a deep breath, gives his hands what she hopes is a reassuring squeeze, and then lifts them until they’re at her breasts. 

She carefully places his hands over the wet t-shirt that covers her and then slides her hands away. Understanding dawns on him immediately and the Doctor’s eyes fly open.  This time he doesn’t stare at a point over her right shoulder.  He doesn’t gaze into her eyes, either.  He looks right where he’s been desperate to look ever since they entered this cave and he realized what the rain had done to her.

His gaze is so smoldering, so intense it’s akin to a physical touch, and as he looks at her Rose has to bite back a moan.

“Is this… is this okay?” he asks.  His voice is timid and shakes a little.  But he doesn’t move his hands away from her, and he doesn’t tear his gaze away from her body.

She nods.  “Wouldn’t have put your hands there if it weren’t.”

“Ah.”  His hands are trembling against her body, and she frowns.

“Relax, Doctor,” she says.

He laughs a little, but there’s no joy in it.  He looks absolutely terrified.  Her poor Doctor.  “Would that I could, Rose.”

Well.  That simply won’t do. 

Determined to help him ease into this Rose decides to take him back to more familiar territory.  She covers his hands with hers, gives them another squeeze – and then kisses him.

This kiss is nothing like the first one they shared on the library sofa, his hands in tight fists at his sides as she gently, carefully showed him what she liked.  He’s proven to be a very quick learner.  And an adept one.  As they stand there in the dim light of the cave, the Doctor cradles her face in both hands as he kisses her thoroughly and confidently, teasing apart her lips with gentle probes of his tongue. She opens eagerly for him, winding her arms around him so tightly she soon loses track of where her body ends and his begins.    

“Rose, please…” he says when he finally breaks away.  His breath comes in short, quick pants, and his voice so low she can hardly hear it over the cascading raindrops pattering against the roof of the cave.  “Show me how to touch you.”  His eyes bore into hers – frustrated, exhilarated, terrified.  “Please, Rose.  Will you… show me?”

It’s the only encouragement she needs.

Without breaking eye contact Rose slowly peels her drenched shirt off her body and drops it to the ground.  The Doctor blinks hard – once, twice – before giving in at last and letting his eyes drink her in.  Rose’s thin, flesh-colored cotton bra has been made completely translucent by the rain, and her nipples are hard and straining against the wet fabric.  Feeling the Doctor’s hungry eyes on her body she carefully reaches around and unclasps her bra.  The straps slip off her shoulders and she shrugs gently out of the small cups, letting the garment fall to the ground by her shirt.

The Doctor’s eyes grow wide at the sight of her, standing half-naked before him.

“Rose,” he rasps.  “You are so… gorgeous.  So _bloody_ gorgeous.  I can’t –“

She crushes her body to his, cutting off his next words with a merciless sweep of her tongue.  Whimpering, his cool hands slide up her body and cover her breasts, and she arches into him, encouraging him to touch and squeeze and tease her with little moans and cries of his name.  Without thinking about it she grasps his bum and pulls him even closer to her, grinding herself against his rapidly growing erection.  He freezes, and for a half second she worries that she’s done the wrong thing – gone too far; moved too fast.  But a moment later he groans loudly at the contact, putting her mind at ease as he ruts hard against her once, and then again, and then a third time. 

Somehow – Rose isn’t certain exactly when it happened – they tumble together to the ground.  The Doctor quickly pulls himself up into a sitting position against the wall of the cave and tugs her onto his lap.  Her bare breasts are at a level with his mouth now and he wastes no time, laving one rosy-crested nipple with the achingly soft flat of his tongue while his fingers find the other, sucking and pinching and caressing her soft flesh as she arches into his palms, her need for him, for friction, for _more_ rapidly becoming a ravenous, insistent throbbing between her legs. 

“Is this… okay…?” he grunts against her as he moves, his words short quick puffs of air against the sensitized skin of her neck.  Her clavicle.  He’s panting now – but so isn’t she – and there’s suddenly there’s no space between them at all as he pulls her even more closely to him and he buries his face in the small valley between her breasts.

“Yes,” she moans.  “More than okay.”  Without realizing she’s doing it, Rose snakes her hand down between them and begins to caress him through the sodden fabric of his trousers.  His erection throbs needfully against her palm, and he cries out, his hands coming to stillness on her breasts as his head falls back against the wall of the cave.

As he thrusts up into her palm again and again, his tightly-wound self-control unravelling a little bit more with every stroke, Rose comes to a decision.

“Time for your next lesson, Doctor,” she says against his lips, moving to unbutton his trousers.

“Rose,” he whispers, helping her.


	4. Downpour (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to mountaingirlheidi, who talked me through a dilemma I faced with this chapter! 
> 
> Please note the story's rating change. Ahem. ;)

Rose makes quick work of the Doctor’s trousers.  She nimbly undoes his belt, the button, and the zip with steady hands, and then quickly shoves them down over his hips along with his pants.

As he toes off his trainers the Doctor wonders, idly, just how many times he’s lied awake in his bed on the TARDIS, indulging fantasizes of Rose Tyler touching him just like this.

He decides it doesn’t matter.  Nothing he’s ever conjured in the deepest, most depraved depths of his imagination could have prepared him for the reality of this:  Rose, topless and ethereal, her luscious bottom lip caught between her teeth as she regards him, her eyes glowing with something he very much hopes is desire.

“What are you thinking?” he rasps after a moment of silence.  Because he has to know.  It’s been centuries since he’s been with someone, and he never has in this body.  Does she find him appealing?  He desperately hopes she does.  But what if she doesn’t? 

When Rose doesn’t answer him the Doctor worries she must be thinking the worst.  But before he can he can ask her a second time Rose curls her hand around his length and gives a gentle but insistent tug.  Every word in every language he’s ever known flies right out of his head, and the universe shrinks down, contracts, until there’s nothing left in the universe at all but him, and Rose, and this.

“Is this all right?” she asks quietly.  “I don’t want to rush you, Doctor.”

“Rose,” he groans.  “It’s… oh, it’s _brilliant_.  But…. I can’t… I-I won’t…”

_I won’t be able to last._

“Shhhh,” she says, smiling, silencing him, the tip of her tongue touching the corner of her mouth.  She stills the hand still encircling him, and firmly presses a finger from her other hand to his lips.  He can feel himself swell in her hand just at the sight of her.  His Rose, taking control.  Of this. Of him.  Oh, gods.  “Just relax, Doctor.”

He tries to give a verbal response but all that comes out is a feeble whimper.  She presses a gentle kiss to his hipbone, and he cries out helplessly, digging his fingers into the hard-packed dirt floor of the cave in a frantic effort to keep from utterly shaming himself less than five seconds into this encounter.

Without further warning Rose begins to stroke him.  Very gently, like he’s something precious and breakable.  But after only a few moments the Doctor knows her slow pace will soon drive him mad.  It’s isn’t long at all before he begins to meet each one of her tender strokes with rough thrusts of his own into her soft, warm hand. 

“Please,” he begs.  He’s not certain what he’s begging for – whether it’s for more of her touch, or for the sweet, delicious torture to stop.  Either way, Rose seems to understand his meaning well enough.  She speeds up her pace, and he wills his eyes to stay open so he can watch her, see himself sliding in and out of her tight grip.  She wraps her second hand around his base and twists in time to his now frantic thrusting, and he can feel a tightening deep within him as his entire being lists sharply and violently towards the edge.

“Doctor,” she whispers, leaning forward and kissing his other hipbone.  The rosy-crested tips of her breasts brush against his thighs, and god Jesus _fuck_ she’s gorgeous.  He tries to keep his eyes open, but he’s just so close and his eyes screw shut of their own accord.  He writhes beneath her, hissing and moaning at the extra stimulation, at the feel of her pebbled nipples pressing up against his legs as her fingers continue to tease and grip and stroke him.

“Rose…” he gasps out.  “I… I can’t…” Everything is tensing up inside him and he knows this won’t last much longer. 

“Doctor,” she says again, each of her breaths little warm puffs of air against his navel. His pelvis.  And then lower.  He can feel her hot wet tongue slide along his length as she licks him from base to tip, swirling her tongue around and around him as her hands continues to move. 

He’s so close now, so very nearly _there_.  He reaches for her shoulder, tries to shake her, to warn her.  But she grabs for his hand and places it on her breast instead, her soft pliant flesh warm and perfect against his palm, and he’s done for.

His orgasm crashes through him like a tidal wave, contorting his whole body as a scream of pleasure dies trapped in his throat.  He loses all track of time as Rose soothes him through it.  He’s only distantly aware of her nuzzling his chest, her free hand tracing gentle circles on his thigh, as he pulses.

Afterwards, he collapses into a heap onto the ground, boneless and breathing like he’s just run a mile.

“Rose,” he mumbles, then laughs a little.  The post-orgasm endorphins already slipping through his bloodstream make him feel euphoric and sleepy all at once.

When the haze begins to clear, however, it becomes obvious that Rose is not sated.  Far from it.  She’s pressing urgent little kisses to the Doctor’s hands and his chest.  She’s grinding herself against his thigh with needy little whimpers that both inflame him anew and fill him, suddenly, with hot, terrible shame over how quickly and selfishly he just finished.

He sighs and covers his face with his hands.  “I’m sorry, Rose,” he says quietly.  “I’m so sorry.”

Rose stops moving at once.  She pulls one of his hands away from his face so he can look at her.  She’s frowning.  “What are you talkin’ about?”

The Doctor closes his eyes.  “I just behaved the way you might expect a human teenaged male to behave the first time a pretty girl touches him.”  He shakes his head.  “You can’t possibly have enjoyed that.  And… I’m sorry.”

To his surprise, Rose begins to laugh.  “Doctor, you are completely daft.”

She takes one of his hands in hers and gives it a squeeze.  She gently, gently nudges it inside her jeans, inside the elastic waistband of her knickers… and then down. 

The Doctor sucks in a harsh breath as his fingertips glide easily through Rose’s slick, wet folds.  She guides his hand to where she wants him, and they moan in unison when he experimentally circles the spot that he knows, from his hours spent studying the female human anatomy in the library, will bring her pleasure if touched correctly.

He looks into her eyes, asking for silent permission to continue.  She grants it with a small nod, and he moves his hand a little faster, certain that all of this must be happening inside a dream.

“Does it _feel_ like I didn’t enjoy making you come, Doctor?”  She says the words with some difficulty, and her eyes slip closed as she begins to rut a little against his hand. 

The Doctor swallows, trying to come up with a cogent response.  But it’s difficult.  The sight and feel of Rose Tyler pleasuring herself against his hand – the smell of her desire, the small little keening sounds she’s making deep in the back of his throat as he touches her – are incredibly distracting.  Touching her like this might be the most erotic thing he’s experienced in 900 years.  He’s already so aroused again, despite the events of the very recent past, that he could probably come a second time just from this.

“Rose,” he begins, when he manages to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.  He looks around the cave blankly.  “Are you sure about this?  Don’t you want... I dunno.  Romance?  And furniture?”  He swallows.  “Maybe, um… a bloke who actually knows what he’s doing?”

Rose stills her movements, looking as though she’s considering what he’s asking her.  Her brows knit together and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.  The Doctor’s eyes are inexorably drawn to her mouth.  He shudders a little as he imagines what her gorgeous, full lips must have looked like while they were on him, when he was between them. 

“Hm...” Rose wonders aloud.  His hearts flop a little in his chest when he realizes she’s actually pondering answers to what he’d mostly intended as rhetorical questions. 

After another silent pause Rose nods meaningfully.  And then everything comes crashing down around him when she abruptly displaces his hand from her knickers and gets to her feet. 

“Oh.  Right,” the Doctor says.  His worst fears are being confirmed.  Rose doesn’t want him after all.  He gives her a smile he hopes looks convincing but it feels like he’s dying inside.  “You don’t want to do this.  It’s… yeah.  Sure.  I understand.”   

Rose says nothing.  She just glares at him, hands on her hips.  After a moment she crosses over to him, her breasts jostling a little as she moves.  The Doctor has to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep from staring. 

When she gets to him she slowly runs her hands up and down his silk tie several times before attacking the knot at his throat with her fingers. 

He gives a surprised yelp.  “Rose – what --?”

“You’re an idiot,” she says, but not unkindly, cutting him off.  She gets his tie undone in record time and slides the now-unknotted strip of fabric from his collar.  She lightly skims her hands down his chest once, and then a second time, making him shudder, before easing his suit jacket off his shoulders and onto the ground.

“Rose?”  He swallows.  “You _do_ want this?

“I always want this.”  She fixes him with another pointed stare.  “Always.  Sex with romance and candles and… and a warm bed are all nice, sure.”  She laughs a little.  “But…“ 

She leans forward and kisses him so tenderly it feels like his hearts might break.

“But, what?”  Because he can never leave well enough alone.

She rolls her eyes.  “ _But_ , you silly man, all I really want is you.”  She kisses him again, another little peck on the lips that leaves him desperate for more. “I don’t care if you’re still learning how to do these things, or just now remembering them, or whatever.  Kissing, sex, all this physical stuff – it doesn’t have to be perfect for it to be absolutely _perfect_.”  She gives him a cheeky, mischievous grin.  She looks so devious in this moment, so sure of herself, that it’s all the Doctor can do not to dissolve into a puddle of adulation at her feet.   

It takes him a moment to find his voice.  “Oh,” he says, stupidly. 

She takes a step closer to him until it seems like they’re breathing the same air.  Her eyes bore into his and gods, this woman will be the death of him.  Again.  “Don’t keep me waiting any longer, Doctor.  We’ll do it someplace more comfy next time.  Promise.”

It’s all he needs to hear. 

Electrified by Rose’s words, and by the implication that there’s going to _be_ a next time, the Doctor clutches at her desperately and kisses her like his lives depend on it.  Which might not be far from reality.  She responds immediately, pulling him even closer, and she wastes no time, hungrily slanting her mouth over his as she takes control of the kiss.  One of her hands snakes down and gives his bare arse a firm squeeze, and then suddenly their bodies are so closely entwined it’s like they’re two halves of the same whole, nothing separating them from one another but the last few bits of clothing they’ve still got on.   

Somehow, Rose’s fingers eventually find their way to the tiny buttons of his oxford.  She undoes each one of them with lighting speed.  It’s only when the shirt’s off his shoulders and on the ground, and he stands before her naked and completely vulnerable, that he finds the courage to return the favor, undoing the button and zip of her jeans and sliding them, and her knickers, down and off her shapely legs.

When he’s finished he pulls back a little and looks at her – at all of her – incredulously.  She’s beaming at him.  She actually _wants_ this.  The Doctor wants to drink her in, wants to preserve this moment forever so that it will be with him all the rest of his days.

“Lie down,” he tells her, his voice rough.  Then he has a better idea.  “No, wait.  Hold on a tick.” 

The Doctor hastily gathers up his coat, jacket, shirt, and trousers, and spreads them all out on the ground to create a makeshift pallet.  It won’t be as comfortable as his bed but at least Rose’s backside won’t get filthy.  “There,” he says, nodding at his handiwork.  “Will that… is this okay?”

She kisses him again in reassurance and lies down on top of his clothes.  She smiles at him again, and she’s resplendent, absolutely glorious, and he has no idea what he could possibly have done to deserve her.

“More than okay,” she assures him.  She raises up her arms to him in wordless invitation.  He obliges, joining her on the ground.  He rolls her onto her back and begins kissing her all over her face, her neck.  Her breasts.  He can’t seem to _stop_ kissing her.  Doesn’t even want to try.

He decides, in this moment, that his days of holding back from Rose Tyler are over.

“Please, Doctor,” she pleads.  He pulls back and looks at her, his hearts in his throat.  Her lips are gently parted, and she’s looking right back at him with eyes that are dark, soulful, and heavy-lidded with desire.

He swallows.  Takes a deep breath.  Steels his nerves.

He pulls her to him once more.

* * *

 

“ _Oh_ ,” the Doctor says on a breathy moan when he enters her. 

The feel of her warm heat enveloping him abruptly stops the spin of the universe and completely overwhelms every one of his senses.  Tentatively, uncertainly, he begins to move.  On his second thrust he lets out an involuntary and indelicate groan, the irresistible slip and pull of their bodies such an exquisite pleasure no poet could ever hope to adequately describe it.

Being with Rose Tyler like this is like flying and being consumed by the sun all at once.  Rose cries out his name once, and then again, the sound of his name on her lips setting every nerve in his body on fire.  She throws back her head as he moves over her, running her fingertips up and down his back and whispering encouraging words into his ear, and he knows with a certainty there is no force in the universe strong enough to tear them apart. 

He’d hoped to last longer this second time.  But it’s a lost cause, with no time passing at all before his movements become sloppy and erratic.  She’s strong, so incredibly strong, his Rose, and she meets every one of his thrusts with a tilt of her hips and a hoarse cry.  Her breasts bounce gorgeously every time he slams into her, and while there’s no part of Rose Tyler he loves more than any other, in this moment he can’t stop staring down at them, at the way her pink nipples brush up against his chest as she moves beneath him. 

Without warning, Rose shifts a little, repositioning her body.  The angle of their connection changes, and there’s a sudden, seismic shift within him that he recognizes instantly.  She clenches around him, pushes him ever closer to the edge, wresting loud groans from his chest that she matches with incoherent cries of her own.

At the last Rose digs her fingernails sharply into his backside.  “Doctor,” she begs, and her entire body goes rigid as the fluttering pulse of her release overwhelms him.  He gives one final, powerful thrust, and then with a cry of her name he falls with her into the abyss. 

* * *

 

Hours later, sated and just a little sore, Rose wakes from a sleep that was surprisingly deep, considering the nature of her bed and location of her nap.

She rolls over onto her side.  The Doctor is right where he was before she drifted off: on his back, sleeping.  And all hers. 

With a wide smile, Rose pulls on her now mostly-dry shirt.  She quietly tiptoes to the mouth of the cave to check on the weather.

It’s much darker outside than it was when they got here.  The sun must have set while they were dozing.  Thankfully, however, the rain has stopped.  The lush vegetation drips heavily, and there are puddles nearly two feet across a few yards down the path, but if they leave soon she figures they should make it back to the TARDIS mostly dry.

“Hey,” the Doctor says from behind her. 

She turns around and sees him there, sitting up on their little bed.  He’s beaming.

“We should probably leave soon,” the Doctor says, echoing Rose’s thoughts.  “If we put it off any longer it’ll be too dark for us to see our way back.”

Rose nods in agreement.  “Sounds good to me.”

Ten minutes later they set off for the TARDIS hand in hand, the universe brimming with possibilities.


	5. Another Royal Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long delay with this update. I had a very hard time deciding exactly how this story should end, and started this chapter a few different times only to decide, a few hundred words in, that it wasn't working. I'm reasonably happy with this version, though -- and I hope you like it too. :)

The Doctor places his hand along the outside crook of Rose’s arm, gently guiding her across the lavishly appointed State room and into the royal ballroom. 

As they walk, Rose notices the ceiling above the dance floor has been partially opened up to the night sky.  The twinkling stars create a lovely effect, but it’s early autumn on Gavaria and the rush of cool fresh air into the room quickly raises gooseflesh on her skin. 

She should have brought along a shawl tonight to cover her shoulders, Rose muses.  Or else worn a less revealing dress.  Then again, the touch of the Doctor’s hand on her bare arm is enough all on its own to send a delicious pulse of warmth straight through her.  And the way his eyes glazed over behind his spectacles earlier tonight when she stepped from their bedroom, wearing this slinky black dress and these ridiculous high heels, is not something she would have wanted to miss.

Perhaps this outfit was the right decision after all.

The Doctor leads them slowly, but with deliberate purpose, towards a spot near the very back of the room.  It’s out of range of the flashy overhead lighting that illuminates most of the dancing dignitaries surrounding them, many of whom Rose suspects had too much to drink at dinner.  This part of the room is also much less crowded than the State room, which still buzzes with activity from chatty Gavarians and royalty from foreign planets Rose never heard of before this evening. 

When she and the Doctor arrive at the farthest, darkest corner of the ballroom the Doctor turns to face her, smiling slyly.

He clearly doesn’t want people to watch them dancing.  That’s a first.  The handful of times Rose has convinced him to dance with her in public he’s made quite the show of it, seeking the spotlight and doing his best to be the center of everyone’s attention.  The same way he does in just about every other setting.

What does he have planned?

“Shall we?”  The Doctor’s voice is smooth as silk he slides his hand around to the small of her back.  The fabric of her dress dips down very low, and his hand feels unusually warm against her bare skin.  The hungry look he gives her makes her shudder for reasons having nothing to do with the room’s temperature.

“Yes,” she says, her face growing very warm.  “Let’s dance.

He takes her hand in his and pulls her so close she can feel his cool breath ghost along her cheek. 

Instinctively, she rests her head against his shoulder.  He slides his hand infinitesimally lower on her back, and tightens his arm around her when she gives an answering sigh.

His head falls forward.  “Oh, Rose,” he whispers, barely audibly, into the crook of her neck. 

They move together to the music as the rest of the world falls away.

* * *

 

Four days ago, she and the Doctor had been having breakfast in the TARDIS kitchen – each of them wearing one half of the Doctor’s favorite striped pyjamas with matching dopey grins on their faces – when the invitation to this semi-annual Gavarian royal ball popped up unexpectedly on the Doctor’s psychic paper.  

The note had been written in a distinctive, flowing script Rose recognized immediately as belonging to the Queen of Gavaria.  She’d been the one, after all, to sign their overnight imprisonment orders six months ago.  Rose isn’t likely to forget her handwriting anytime soon. 

The Doctor couldn’t have been more surprised by the invitation if a Dalek in a tuxedo had delivered it to them on a silver platter. 

“Oh my,” he’d said slowly as he read the note, rubbing his face.  “Err…. Rose.  I… think we have to go to this.”  He swallowed audibly and blanched, setting the psychic paper down beside his bowl of Golden Grahams, an American breakfast cereal he’s recently developed a fondness for.

Rose’s jaw dropped in surprise.  She could think of nothing she’d rather do less than spend an evening with the same people who tossed them in jail for the Doctor’s prattish behavior all those months ago.  They’ve come so far since that night, she and him.  Why did they have to go back and revisit what happened?

“And why’s that, Doctor?” she demanded.  “Exactly why do we have to go?”

The Doctor sighed, tapping his psychic paper with the tip of his index finger.  “The invitation is… well.   It’s very gracious, Rose.  I suspect the Queen wishes to make amends with us.  Patch things up, so to speak.  For whatever reason.”  He tossed the psychic paper onto the kitchen counter.  “Given that we – err, given that _I_ , rather – behaved so badly the last time we were there, turning down this invitation would be the height of rudeness.”  He shook his head.  “We have enough trouble in our lives without keeping the Gavarians on the list of people who aren’t, ah, overly fond of us.”

He’d tugged her onto his lap, then, his fingertips tracing her upper thighs along the bottom hem of his pyjama top.  It has a habit of riding up quite a lot whenever she wears it, and this detail didn’t escape the Doctor’s notice that morning.  Despite having shagged each other quite thoroughly less than an hour earlier Rose could feel him stirring to life again beneath her, through the thin cotton fabric of his pyjama bottoms. 

“I won’t leave your side the entire night,” he’d vowed, his fingers creeping up her thighs, and then higher, until they bumped up against the elastic waistband of her knickers.  “Promise.”

She turned to face him.  “You better not,” she warned, tapping him lightly on the nose with her finger.  She leaned forward and kissed him chastely on the lips.  He tried to kiss her back but she pulled away too quickly, earning a loud groan and an adorable pout from the Doctor.

“I won’t,” he said earnestly.  “I… Rose, I couldn’t.  I swear.”  He shook his head.  “Not again.  Never again.”

“Good,” she said, satisfied.  Grinning, she slipped her hand down between them until she grasped him in her palm.  His jaw went slack and his eyes travelled slowly down from her face to her breasts, where they stayed. 

How was it possible that they were here?  Six months ago the Doctor literally fled from the room every time they stepped even a hair too close to the edge.  And now here they were, kissing and touching each other intimately -- in the kitchen of all places -- like they’d been doing it all their lives.

It was enough to make Rose’s head spin, really.  But she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Good,” the Doctor repeated dazedly before kissing her for real.

* * *

 

The Gavarian string quartet plays music Rose has never heard before.  It’s no less beautiful for its unfamiliarity, though.  The silky notes from the two golden violins intertwine gorgeously, rising up and up as the cellists seated between them carry the rhapsodic melody.

A good chamber ensemble is usually guaranteed to capture the Doctor’s attention.  But tonight he acts like he doesn’t even notice there’s music playing.  Or that the two of them are supposed to be dancing.  While she and the Doctor are technically moving about the dance floor together his usual grace and coordination are noticeably absent.  And his eyes never leave her.  They repeatedly travel slowly down from her face to the apex of her plunging neckline and then back up again, drinking her in as though he doesn’t want to miss a single detail. 

Despite the fact that the Doctor now regularly sees her in just about every state of undress, his intense gaze feels deliciously indecent here, somehow, away from home and in this very posh setting.  Of course, that feeling is only heightened by the fact that as the evening has progressed the Doctor’s hands have roamed quite a lot, and now rest scandalously low on her backside.       

Rose is just about to say, _sod it_ – to close the small distance between them and press her lips to his – when the Doctor suddenly stiffens, and looks away from her for the first time since they started dancing. 

Something behind her has caught his attention.  Something he’s clearly unhappy about, in fact, judging from how tightly he’s clenching his jaw.

“Princess Ravinia,” he says tersely, over Rose’s shoulder, not bothering to pull away from her.  “How very nice to see you again.”

Rose’s stomach lurches.  She turns her head and sure enough, the Queen’s younger sister is sidling up to them.  Her green skin is as burnished and flawless as it was that horrible night six months ago.  She’s wearing a jewel-encrusted gown that fits so snugly it looks painted on, and a smile so false Rose has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes.

“Hello, Doctor,” Ravinia says warmly, ignoring Rose.  “I’m so glad you were able to make it to my family’s little gathering on such short notice.” 

She puts her hand on the Doctor’s arm.  To Rose’s immediate relief he wastes no time in shrugging it off. 

The Doctor sniffs.  “Of course.  We happened to be in the area, so, yes.  Here we are!”

Every word he speaks is clipped and precise, with no trace of his usual warmth and humor.  The princess swallows audibly and her forced smile grows.  She tries again.  “I also wanted to thank you for finding it within yourself to accept our family’s apology.  That bit of foolishness at the last royal ball was… err… it was…”

“Foolish,” the Doctor finishes for her.  He wraps his arm around Rose once more and pulls her snugly against his side.  “But yes, I do forgive you and your family for tossing us so unceremoniously into that horrible jail.  No harm no foul, as they say.”  He looks at Rose.  “Can’t speak for Rose, though.  You’ll have to ask her if she forgives you, too.” 

Rose, embarrassed, waves her hand dismissively.  “s’fine, your highness,” she lies.  What happened six months ago wasn’t fine then and it isn’t fine now.  More than anything else, though, she just wants this conversation to be over.

Ravinia laughs a tinkling laugh.  “Wonderful,” she says.   “You _will_ let me know if there’s anything my family can do to make your stay here more comfortable, yes?”

“Oh!” the Doctor exclaims, clapping his hand theatrically to his forehead.  “Did I not mention in my RSVP?  Could have sworn I had done.  Hm.  Well, either way – Rose and I won’t be staying here tonight.  My TARDIS is parked just outside the palace, and, well…” He trails off meaningfully and rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand.  “Our bed is on it, you see.”  He nods.  “Rose’s and mine.”

Rose’s eyes go round as saucers.  Did her very private Doctor really just admit, loudly and publicly, and in front of Princess Ravinia, that they _share a bed_? 

She supposes he must have, because a moment later the princess’ jaw snaps shut with a loud click and her green cheeks take on a slightly yellow tinge.  The Doctor has clearly embarrassed her.    _Good_ , Rose thinks to herself, feeling a bit petty but past caring _._

“I see,” Ravinia says, pursing her lips. 

“Mmm,” the Doctor says, nodding.  “It’s quite a nice bed, in fact.  The man we got it from called a ‘California King.’  It’s positively massive!  Takes up the whole room.  It’s got these big squashy down pillows, soft blankets – the whole nine yards.”  He stops his babbling to place a gentle kiss to the top of Rose’s head.  When he pulls back he’s wearing a cheeky grin.  “Of course, normally we don’t take up very much of the bed, the two of us.  Because… well…”  He trails off again and winks salaciously at Rose.  Rose feels like she might burst into flames at any moment.  “And now that I’ve got Rose to share it with no other bed feels quite like home.” 

At his words, Princess Ravinia makes a show of looking pointedly over the Doctor’s shoulder rather than at either of them.  But she says nothing.

“Now – if there’ll be nothing else, Ravinia, we’d like to get back to our dancing.  Thank you so much for the invitation, truly.  Rose and I are having a wonderful time.”  And without another word the Doctor abruptly turns his back on the princess and is facing Rose once more.  His eyes are bright with joy, and his smile for her is so broad it threatens to split his face in two.

“Doctor,” Rose chides quietly, once Ravinia is out of earshot.  “You didn’t have to –“

“Is she gone?” he interrupts.  “The Princess, I mean.  Has she left?”

Rose bites her lip.  She stands on her tiptoes and peers over the Doctor’s shoulder.  Sure enough, Ravinia is already halfway across the room, chatting animatedly with a group of young ladies in formal gowns. 

“Yes,” she says.  “She’s gone.”

The Doctor’s smile grows even broader.  “Good.”  He places one hand on either side of her waist and pulls her close.  Grinning back up at him, Rose rests her palms flat on his chest and looks up at him through her eyelashes.

“Definitely good,” she agrees.

He winks at her again.  “Now, Rose Tyler.  Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”

* * *

 

Rose isn’t certain how much time passes between Ravinia’s departure and when she and the Doctor finally give in to what they’ve both wanted all evening and start snogging, right in the middle of the ballroom.

It certainly can’t have been long.   But then, the Doctor’s hands – so talented, so sure after all those hours and weeks she spent teaching him exactly what she likes – are already working their magic along the sides of her face, down her bare arms, and along the gentle curvature of her waist.  And at the moment she can’t really be quite certain of much of anything at all but the feel of his lips and his hands against hers.

Their kisses are slow and languid at first, as they half-heartedly try to find their footing again.  But then the Doctor’s teasing apart her lips with his tongue in that newly self-assured way he has, and a moment later his hands slide down to firmly grasp her bum.  She sighs into his mouth, and he pulls her more firmly against him, and then even the pretense of dancing is forgotten. 

After what feels like a very long time – but which might, in fact, only have been a few long moments – the Doctor pulls back.  He’s looking at Rose with an incredulous, dazed expression, as though she hung every single one of the stars he holds so dear.

He shakes his head a little, like he’s trying to clear it.  He lowers his head until his lips are at her ear.  “Coming here was a silly idea,” he says conspiratorially, his voice smooth as honey.

Rose bursts out laughing in spite of herself.  “You might remember, Doctor – that’s exactly what I was said to you when we got the invitation!”

“Mmm,” he allows.  He presses a kiss to her temple and then another to the top of her head.  “Still.  I suppose coming here wasn’t a _total_ waste of time.  We’ve made a more than adequate appearance here on Gavaria.  We exchanged pleasantries with the Queen, her brother, and the… ahh… _princess_ , which should smooth over any formerly rough patches between us well enough.  But I don’t want to dance anymore, Rose Tyler.”  He levels her with an earnest stare.  “And I don’t want to be at this bloody ball anymore.”

“What do you want, Doctor?”  But Rose thinks she already knows.  The Doctor tugs her still closer to his body, until at last she can feel him, all of him, already half-hard and wanting against her hip.  

He swallows, and presses a gentle kiss to the sweet spot where her neck meets her shoulder.  She can feel it all the way down to her toes.  “I want to get you out of this dress.”  He runs his hands meaningfully down along her back, pausing when his fingertips hit the zip mid-way.  “It’s all I’ve been able to think about ever since I first saw you wearing it on the TARDIS.”

She smiles at him, the tip of her tongue touching the corner of her mouth in the way she knows drives him barmy.  “Race you to the exit.”

He grins at her.  “Oh, but I’m fast.  And you –“ he points down to her absurd footwear – “are at a disadvantage.”

A moment later they’re both off, laughing and running pell-mell towards the exit and drawing the attention of just about everybody at the ball.  Neither of them care.

In the end the Doctor does make it to the back door first.  But only because Rose – who’s become quite adept at running in all sorts of silly shoes these past two years – lets him win.

* * *

 

Once they finally reach the TARDIS the Doctor wastes no time.  Before he’s even got the door open his fingers are at her zip, steadily working it down her back while he undoes the TARDIS locks with a key he’s holding precariously in his teeth.

And then he walks her, backwards, right through the door, his lips nipping so hungrily at the sensitive skin of her throat Rose is certain they won’t make it to the posh bed he told Ravinia about in all that specific detail.

As it happens, she’s right.

“I want to try something new tonight, Rose, if that’s all right with you,” the Doctor rasps as he eases her down onto the jump seat.  She’s already open and spread before him, and he slowly sinks down until he’s kneeling on the metal grating.  He moves closer to her, in between her legs, sliding her dress up and up until it’s bunched up around her waist and there’s nothing between him and where she so desperately wants him to be but his trousers and her tiny, black knickers. 

Rose looks down at him and sees his erection jutting out in front of him cartoonishly, tenting his trousers.  She itches to free it from its confines, to feel the warm smooth heft of him in her palm.    

When she doesn’t respond to his request right away the Doctor begins to look more unsure of himself than he has since that night she showed him how to make her come apart with his fingers.  “Rose?  May I?”

Rose nods.  “Oh, yes!  Yes, Doctor.  I’m sorry, I was just… oh, nevermind.  Yes.  I think… I think I’d like what you’ve got in mind very much.” 

His shoulders slump in relief, and he grins wolfishly up at her just before he bends his head.

Oh, and it’s good.  It’s just so bloody _good_ , the slide of his soft, insistent tongue against her clit, his fingers working inside her in tandem to bring her pleasure to its ultimate peak.  She cards her fingers through his hair, and tugs on it, hard, as he works her, whining and panting impatiently for release as he strokes and teases.

God, she loves him.  She’s known she’s loved him – on some, level at least – ever since Cardiff, back when he was all ears and woolen jumpers and leather jacket.  But it’s taken until now; until _this –_ his arms around her in their bed every night, his chest her pillow; his grateful, explicit declarations of devoted love every morning when she wakes – for her to really know the love she feels for him in her very soul.  

When she shatters against his lips, he quickly clambers up onto the jump seat so he can swallow down her hoarse cries.  His tongue tastes strongly of her, and she’s dimly aware that he’s rutting brusquely against her hip as she soars.  It’s not long at all before he answers her sighs with needy moans of his own.

“Your turn,” Rose says without preamble when at last she’s caught her breath. He smiles at her, gives a theatrical little whoop of joy, and rolls off of her so she can get started.

As he rushes to undo his trousers and yank them down Rose sends up a silent prayer of thanks to any god that might be listening for this.  For what they have.  For the fact that she had the patience and understanding to help the Doctor through his crippling insecurities.  And that against all odds, he was able to find the strength within himself to let go of these fears, and to trust again.

“My turn,” the Doctor says, laughing, cutting into her blissful reverie.  His trousers and pants are down around his ankles and he’s already palming himself, apparently unable to wait one second longer for release.

Rose gently unwraps his hand from him and replaces it with her own.  She gives a gentle tug, his eyes roll back into his head, and she’s home.


End file.
